


It Might Have Been

by LeighLa (WarieLym)



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, RE2Remake Leon, Self-Indulgent, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, everyone has normal non-umbrella-ass-kicking jobs, i have an approximate knowledge of many things (not including RE), leon has a very bad day and then things get better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2019-10-19 18:19:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17606489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarieLym/pseuds/LeighLa
Summary: Leon dies in the Raccoon City Police Department and wakes up somewhere better.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> alright so im on a huge RE2 remake kick and i love leon but boy howdy does the boy need a hug and a BREAK
> 
> i just... love this twink....

The wheels supporting the bookshelf groan under the force as Leon desperately pulls it into place.

 _Not fast enough_ , he thinks, _keep going._

His heart beats frantically, the rush of blood drowning out everything but the approaching footsteps of the monstrosity that stalks him through the halls. He had seen it up close once, and he never wanted to again, but it seemed like there would be no choice this time.

 

At the very least, there probably wouldn’t be another time.

 

The footsteps pick up their pace. It must have heard the wheels, or the groaning, shambling creatures that wander the library. Leon’s hands slip off the edge of the second bookshelf, and he curses as loud as he dares, grabbing at the shelves and pulling with as much strength as he can gather.

 

The gap is almost closed, but not close enough to jump. _One more, just one-_

The door swings open, and some long-locked-away part of Leon’s brain registers that it’s still on its hinges. It would be funny, he thinks, if he weren’t about to die. He’s too injured to run or out-maneuver, a deep bite to his leg aborting every step mid-stride.

 

He hopes Claire found a way out.

 

He hopes this thing won’t follow her.

 

He knows it will.

 

There’s no time. Nowhere to run. It’s coming, he can see the unnatural white of its eyes, knows that his remaining bullets wouldn’t save him even if he shot the thing in its stony goddamn face.

Leon’s back meets the wall, the advancing creature filling his field of vision until all he can see is his own petrified face reflected back in its coat, its hand reaching for his head, he can’t see, _I can’t see, it hurts, it HURTS-_

 

And then it doesn’t.

 

That large, gloved hand is reaching for him again- _a second chance? A chance to escape, to go down swinging?-_ and he does just that, lashing out at the mass with as much ferocity as he can muster.

 

He’s on the floor before he can get another hit in, and this time he’s ready for it to end. He knows how much it hurt, how fast it ended.

But it doesn’t come. He can feel the linoleum beneath his fingers, something solid at his back, hands on his arms holding him tight, but not enough to bruise.

Uniformed figures float through his blurred vision, a familiar garland hanging from the ceiling, mumbling voices - actual _human voices-_ colored with concern.

 

“You’re all right, rookie, calm down.” Someone has crouched in front of him, their voice familiar but not quite right.

 

Marvin?

 

“You’re safe, take some deep breaths with me.” He sounds different when he isn't bleeding out.

 

 _That’s a tall order, Lieutenant_ , Leon thinks, but manages only a voiceless gasp. _I must be dead._ The sound of his own breathing overtakes Marvin’s voice, and his vision swims, the voices around him muddling into something barely comprehensible.

 

“You’re having a panic attack, Kennedy, can you look at me?”

 

“Krauser, loosen up, he’s hyperventilating!”

 

“Elliott, Scott, get the break room cleared and call Eliza.”

 

The cacophony of voices rings in his ears, the words only making half-sense, and he can’t bring himself to analyze them as the edges of his vision fade. For the first time since this nightmare began, Leon allows himself to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon wakes up, and speaks (some of) his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im channeling all of my school stress into leon's tyrant stress

The first thing he sees when he wakes is Lieutenant Branagh, looking decidedly more alive than the last time they had met.

 

“Lieutenant!?” His voice scrapes its way out of his lungs, and he immediately regrets the action, rubbing at his throat. “You’re okay? You’re alive, you’re okay, Jesus Christ-”

 

What is this? It _wasn’t_ a dream. He felt every bite, every broken bone, remembers every stab of fear in his stomach, every face that fell and rose again. His mind didn’t conjure the horror he endured, or the way he escaped it.

 

It couldn’t have. If it had then it could happen again.

 

Just the thought halts the breath in his lungs, and he grasps at the sofa cushions hard enough to whiten his knuckles.

 

“I’m fine, Kennedy.” Marvin’s voice is firm, not unkind, but the expression that accompanies it is familiar. Lines around his eyes and mouth creased, tense. “I’ve got a few questions to ask you. Are you feeling up for it?”

 

Taking in the room around him, Leon remembers it well, but hardly remembers it being so clean. Not a smear of blood in sight, stacks of books in their rightful places, no shell casings scattered on the floor. This isn’t right. Marvin can’t be here. _There’s no cure. They’re all dead. This isn’t right._

 

He is not up for it.

 

“I am, sir.”

 

Marvin gives him a dubious look, brows raised, but leans forward on his elbows. “Alright, but you let me know if that changes, got it?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

He expected what follows, his name, his age, his hometown, the year and where they are. Marvin’s expression gives away nothing until the exact date.

 

“September 30th, 1998.”

 

Marvin’s lips press into a thin line, and he scribbles a note on a clipboard that has laid unused in his lap. “Alright, rookie. Now, what do you remember of the last few hours?”

 

 _Well, that’s a tough one._ The parts of Leon’s brain not overwhelmed by the situation scream to lie, _say nothing, you remember walking in the door and nothing else,_ but his conscience, the candor and respect for authority he’s often praised for win out.

 

“I was in the library.” Judging by the curve of Marvin’s mouth, he shouldn’t have been. “I was being followed, so… I hid, sir.” The words are bitter in his mouth, and the memory, so recent, _so real_ , brings that familiar tremble to his hands. “It found me, and I couldn’t run-”

 

The breath catches in his throat, and he flexes the muscle of his injured leg.

 

His _formerly_ injured leg. He was hurt. He couldn’t run. But he isn’t hurt. Where is it, _where is it, it can’t have healed that fast-_

 

Leon doesn’t notice his breath getting ragged until Marvin drags his chair closer, holding his hands up as if to steady him.

“You’re safe, you’re not hurt, Kennedy, take your time.” Marvin’s eyes don’t waver as says it. He really thinks they’re safe. “Whatever was after you, it’s not here. We’re all safe.” _He really believes it._

 

 _Can you? Should you?_ A voice in the back of Leon’s head, the one that kept him alive, casts his gaze to the far wall. _The second you get comfortable._ That’s _when he’ll tear his way through that wall. Through_ Marvin _. Right back to you._

 

A pair of fingers snap in front of his eyes, bringing them back into focus. “You still with me, Kennedy?”

 

He swallows roughly. “Yes, sir.”

 

“You were hiding, and something found you. Then what?” Whatever Marvin thinks of this, he’s hiding it well. “What found you?”

 

 _Jesus, I wish I knew._ “It- he was-” His teeth click together harshly, catching the words _a monster_ before they can escape. If this is really happening, playing the ‘zombie’ angle is just  going to land him in a psych ward. “Big. Strong. Hunting down the ones it- he missed. Witnesses.”

An extreme over-simplification. That thing was more than _big_ or _strong_ , it was inhuman, relentless. Impossible.

 

_It can’t be gone._

 

He shakes the thought away, willing his heart to maintain its steady beat. _Gone or not, it isn’t here. You’d hear it coming. You’ll have time._

 

Marvin leans forward on his elbows, fingers laced together, and gives Leon a considering stare. “Alright, kid, I believe you.” He stands with a grunt, tucking the clipboard under his arm.  “I’m going to go make sure our medic takes a look at this and adds it to her file. You alright in here alone?”

 

Leon wishes he could have seen what Marvin wrote. _‘This kid is off his meds’, probably. Maybe I am. Wouldn't it be nice if that were the case. If none of this ever happened, if it was all a figment of my dangerously overactive imagination-_

 

A hand claps on his shoulder, and he only mostly manages to suppress his flinch. Marvin’s eyes have softened almost imperceptibly, and his tone is noticeably less formal. “Kid, We don’t fire people for things they can’t control. There’s no shame in it, we just have to get you settled and set up with our therapist before we can get you to work. We _will_ have to have a chat about what happened in there, but I'll let you rest up first.”

 

Marvin must read his owlish stare as a distaste for therapy, as it earns him another pat on the shoulder. “We all talk to her, Kennedy. You see some shit doing this job. You’re in good company. Got it?”

 

“...Yes, sir.” _Really? That’s it?_

 

“Officers Phillips and Edward will be in soon to bring you something to eat, maybe give you a tour of the station proper, if you’re up to it.” Marvin smiles, but it’s a tired, hopeful thing. “ _Are_ you up to it?”

 

Leon knows it would do him no favors to say _I know this station like the back of my hand_ , or  _I remember exactly where you bled out, and where Elliot was ripped in half,_  so he simply nods, shifting his weight on the sofa. “Yes, sir.”

 

With one last reassurance, Marvin is out the door, and Leon is left alone with his racing thoughts, and fingers twitching towards a gun that isn't there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is all very straight-from-brain-to-paper with no proofreading in between, in addition to the fact that i'm not a writer, so i hope it's bearable o<-<


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marvin deals with the aftermath, or at least a piece of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all, writing is hard. writing chris is very hard. writing krauser is god testing me.  
> i need to rewatch some LPs right now.

Dr. Eliza Snyder is a good therapist, in Marvin’s personal and professional opinion. She got him through his first major injury in the line of duty, helped him work through the fear that ran through him at the sound of a gunshot, and still does today.

Her naturally maternal aura and unassuming, friendly features earned her the name ‘Grandma Snyder’ among some of her more regular visitors, and she frequently made herself known at the department, if only to pop in and say ‘hello’. A gentle, guiding hand.

 

She’s definitely who they need right now.

 

Nothing in the rookie’s file had indicated any trauma in his past, distant or recent, so a surprise party hadn’t seemed like a colossal undertaking. A few streamers, a ‘Welcome Leon’ banner above his desk, a few first-day activities, just a little surprise when he walked into the office for the first time.

 

Too much of a surprise, apparently. 

 

On the walk to the office, Leon had looked as bright eyed and earnest has he had during his interview. All soft lines, boyishly tousled hair and wide blue eyes, looking more a boyscout than a police officer. 

Marvin wishes he’d noticed the moment those clear eyes had gone a bit clouded, realized what the change in his posture meant before he had lashed out with the frenzy of a cornered animal.

He feels a bit bad for being glad that Krauser had received the brunt of the attack, but Jack is a sturdy guy. Better him than one of the more bookish employees. If he had the wind knocked out of him, Elliott or Scott would have had cracked ribs.

 

He sends the email detailing Kennedy’s incident with a final smack of the return key, and slumps into his seat, grunting in acknowledgement when a group of figures wanders into his peripheral vision. “Don’t you all have work to do?”

 

“Nothing as pressing as bothering you.” Scott replies, perching on the edge of Marvin’s desk despite his answering frown. Krauser and Redfield linger behind him, finishing a quiet conversation as they approach, each taking a seat in an empty chair. 

 

All three of them level him with expectant stares, and he sighs. “The kid’s fine, just give him some space for a while. Rita and Elliot should be in there with him right about now.” Scott’s mouth opens, and Marvin beats him to the punch. “No, I don’t think he’s dangerous.”

 

Chris crosses his arms, his chair creaking as he leans back. “What do you think, then?” 

 

“After talking to the him, my first thought is that he had a damn intense flashback. His explanation of what he remembered was pretty fragmented.” Marvin replied, rubbing a hand down his face, taking a glance at his desktop. “Could be something he repressed, there wasn’t  a mention of trauma in his personal history.”

Eliza really couldn’t reply fast enough, she was the one with a PhD in this stuff. He can be the kid’s boss, his friend if he’s able, but he’s no doctor.

 

“What  _ does _ he remember?” Krauser speaks up, a scowl darkening his already severe face.

 

“Well, not that devastating shoulder to your solar plexus, that’s for sure.” Marvin replies, resisting the urge to roll his eyes when Krauser’s frown deepens. Chris doesn’t even try to stifle his snort. “I don’t think he realizes he lashed out at an innocent.” 

Krauser himself looks like he has to force down a self-deprecating smirk at the word ‘innocent’.

 

“He said he was being chased by someone. Someone big.” Marvin motions to Krauser with a wave of the hand, and the man’s scowl softens to something tinged with guilt. “With how antsy he was in there, seems like he expects them to bust through the door any second.”

 

Kennedy’s slip of the tongue rings in the back of his head, and Marvin purses his lips. “He called whoever it was an ‘it’ a few times before correcting himself. Not sure what to make of that.” 

 

“Could have been an animal attack, or conflating multiple attackers into one ‘monster’. Could have been a lot of things, Lieutenant. He say anything else?” Chris adds, clicking his tongue. A crease works its way between Krauser’s brows, but he nods his agreement. 

 

“Nothing much. He could tell me where he was, the year, current president, all the basics.” Marvin replies, tapping an uneven rhythm into the wood of his desk. “He got the date wrong, though. A bit more than a whole week off the mark.”

 

A jarring  _ ping _ from the desktop startles the three out of their discussion. 

 

“That the good doctor?” Chris asks, rising from his seat, Scott having disappeared somewhere through the conversation.

 

“It sure is.” Marvin scans the email, scribbling the date and time onto a scrap piece of paper. A miracle worker, that woman. She had managed to work the rookie into her schedule for the  _ next day _ . 

The sooner the better. They couldn’t have a new officer trying to off their hand-to-hand trainer on the regular. 

 

“Damn, she works fast.” Chris gave a low whistle, already ambling towards the door to the main hall. “I have to get  back to work, but keep me posted.”

That’s right, Chris was leaving early today. Something about picking up his sister from the airport, helping her get settled in the city. 

 

“You got it. Drive save, Redfield.” Marvin turns back to his desk, fully intending to settle back into his work, until he realizes that his remaining companion hasn’t left. 

Krauser has leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hands steepled, looking more like a man headed for war than one who just nearly got decked by a kid fresh out of the academy. He’s a hard man to read, but Marvin has at least mastered the art of telling when he’s thinking too hard. This is most certainly one of those times. 

 

“You doing alright, Jack?”

 

A beat.

 

“Y’think the rookie would be alright if I went to apologize?”

 

Marvin should have expected this, but it makes it no easier to deal with. Krauser might be a mountain of a man with a face equally stony, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t soft underneath it. Apologizing to someone who punched him because he startled them into a flashback is pretty on brand. 

 

“I’m not sure, Jack. He seemed more grounded when I talked with him, but that’s not saying much considering how out of it he was before.” There was no telling if the kid would be thrown back into whatever nightmare he’d clawed his way out of.

But at the same time, they can’t avoid this forever. Krauser isn’t in the department as often as others, being a contracted instructor and not an officer, but he’s still here often enough to that they’d meet eventually.

 

He takes another moment to consider it, and his bleeding heart wins out. Better a controlled environment than Kennedy rounding a corner straight into Krauser and starting the fiasco all over again.

“He’s meeting Eliza tomorrow. If she gives him the okay, I’ll ask him what he wants to do.” Marvin relents, clapping the larger man on the shoulder. “We’ll get this figured out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be back to leon!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> leon gets babysat by two new co-workers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this between classes and BOY HOWDY did i rush but i hope its ok >:0

Officers Rita and Elliot are nice, Leon thinks. Rita is warm and excitable, and her eyes twinkle with a kind of mirth he hadn’t seen since… before the police academy, at least. Elliot is a bit apprehensive in  comparison, but his tensed shoulders lower almost immediately when he sees the cards come out of Rita’s pocket. 

 

And that’s how he finds himself struggling to keep up while Rita coaches him, Elliot looking like he’s not planning to take prisoners.

 

“This one?” He asks, pointing at the card depicting a charging dinosaur, and Rita clicks her tongue while Elliot replies ‘Yes, pick that one, do it, rookie’.

 

“That’s a creature card, so not quite yet. You already have it summoned.” She laughs outright at the crease he can feel forming between his brows. “Don’t worry, we’ll have you up to  speed in no time. This is like… the set-up stage.”

She draws a card from the deck she’s lended him, and makes a noise of approval. “ _ This _ is a land card. You play these to gain mana, and-”

 

The clicking rotation of the door handle straightens  Leon’s spine, and silences Rita’s voice at the same time. “Leon? You okay?”

 

He hears her say the words, but any idea of responding is erased as the door creaks open. 

No blood. No reflective black leather or steely dead eyes.

Just the dark blue of a familiar uniform. Officer Scott, according to the nametag that he can barely make out. “You nerds doing alright in here?” 

Leon lets himself breath in raggedly, turning back to the cards, willing himself not to acknowledge the concerned pinch of Elliot’s expression, or Rita’s hand squeezing his shoulder. 

 

He hates this.

 

He hates that they’re putting so much effort into helping him, into making him feel at home, and that he can’t shake the feeling that it’s  _ wrong _ . 

There must be something  around the corner, waiting, ready to let the events of the last day replay in horrible detail right in front of him. The thought shallows his breath even further, made nearly unbearable by the heartache of knowing that these are good people. Good people who were-  _ will be _ pulled apart by monsters.

 

“We’re fine, just completely destroying the newbie.” Elliot responds in Leon’s place as he puts down his own cards. “He’s not as bad as you, at least.”

Rita gives Leon’s shoulder one last squeeze of reassurance, her eyes locking on to the clipboard in Scott’s hand. “Whatcha’ got?”

 

“Marvin managed to swing an appointment tomorrow afternoon.” He replies, tossing her the clipboard in a low lob. “An hour and a half of one-on-one emotion-time with Dr. Snyder. Gird your loins, rookie. She’s a handful.”

 

Leon’s confusion plows through what remains of his anxiety, and it must show on his face. “Jesus, Scott, don’t scare him too bad.” Elliot says with a roll of his eyes. “She’s the psychologist most of us see.”

 

A psychologist. Leon remembers Marvin mentioning that, but at the time he hadn’t had the brain power to process its potential consequences. 

Now that he does, he knows that they are  _ many _ .

Tell the psychiatrist that he was bitten repeatedly by zombies, a death sentence in itself, only to… what? Get mauled so brutally that he got thrown into the past? A dream? An alternate reality?

He sounds crazy to  _ himself _ , how is he supposed to explain it to a professional? Lying, faking complete amnesia feels like his only option, but he knows that it would eat away at him until he told the truth.

The thought brings another problem to the forefront of his thoughts. If this changed, what  else has changed?

Did Umbrella get the sample like they wanted, stop Birkin before he could start? Did Ada get to her informant in the holding cells?  _ Was he still down there?  _ The questions begin to pile up till his head spins, and he thanks his lucky stars when Rita gives him another gentle nudge, pulling him out of that anxious vortex.

“You’ll be fine, Leon. She’s like… our collective grandma. She’s not going to judge you.” A teasing smile brightens her face. “She even gives the good kids snacks.”

 

Elliot gapes. “She  _ what _ ?”

 

“I said the  _ good  _ kids, dumbass.”

 

He can’t help the amused huff that escapes him. “She sounds great.” His voice still shakes in a way he hates, but he tries to infuse as much earnest truth into the words as he can. “Thanks, guys.”

 

Rita is silent for a moment, her expression softening in a way that has Scott and Elliot grinning in a way that worries him  _ greatly _ , but his thoughts are cut short when she loops her arm around his neck, grinding her fist into the crown of his head. 

 

“ _ God,  _ you remind me of my kid brother. How old are you, nineteen? Twenty? Don’t lie.”

 

“Rita!?” He is ashamed to acknowledge her name comes out in a yelp, and she laughs boisterously. “I’m twenty one!”

 

“What?  _ No,  _ that sounds like a lie to me-”

 

“It’s the truth, I swear!” 

“Her brand of affection is  _ real _ tactile. You get used to it.” Scott quips, leaning against the doorframe and doing nothing to help him escape her vice-grip. “Or you don’t. Our turnover for new recruits is all her fault.

 

“It is  _ not _ , you know it’s the smell of Ford’s lunches.”

 

“It’s a joint effort.”

 

Leon taps out on her forearm until she lets him breathe, but finds himself grinning as he rubs at his neck, a laugh bubbling in his own throat. “That’s some grip you got there.” The laugh comes even easier as she flexes her biceps, drawing Elliot into an impromptu arm wrestling match over the cleared edge of the coffee table. 

Their cards are thrown out of order, but he can't say he understood the order in the first place, so it's not too much of a loss in his book.

 

Hearing the commotion, a few other officers poke their heads in the door, as it continues, and Leon feels the back of the sofa dip slightly.

 

He looks up, finding Marvin, looking worn but amused all the same. “Is it always this lively, Lieutenant?”

 

"More or less. It’s worse on training days.” Marvin snorts and gives him the theatrical, long-suffering sigh of a man tasked with herding cats. "You haven't run out screaming yet, so you'll probably get used to it pretty fast."

The smile that tugs at Leon's lips is hopeful. Even if there aren't many, he wants to enjoy his moments with them.

"I'll do my best."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got really into writing rita ok. leon deserves a support system


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon meets the good doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if dr. snyder was real she would be in So much trouble for all of her bad habits, i'm sure
> 
> also this is the longest chapter so far and i forgot what i was doing halfway through but im giving it to you anyway

The drive to Dr. Snyder’s practice is likely as calming as Leon could hope for it to be, with his boss in the passenger seat of his beat up, hand-me-down Jeep on the way to get psychologically evaluated.

Marvin is a good guy, he knows. Even better than he had thought initially, in a crisis situation. He has a kind face, and a demeanor that makes Leon think he’d make a good teacher. Stern, but invested in seeing you be the best you can be. ‘Take no shit, but do no harm.’

In this instance, he does not seem to be impressed by Leon's 'best'. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Marvin grimace, one hand braced on the dashboard. “Kid, you look as relaxed as I’ve seen you and I’m glad for it, but driving is _not_ your specialty.”

 

“Sorry, Lieutenant. Learned on riskier roads than this.” The wasn’t the first time he had heard it, but he still didn’t see any immediate infractions in his driving. “Old habits die hard.” At least the engine wasn’t on fire.

 

“I believe it.” Marvin keeps him engaged with idle conversation until they approach a large, plain building, severe and sterile even in its architecture.

 

Leon presses his lips into a thin line. “...Lovely place.”

Marvin barks a laugh as he exits the jeep, smiling wryly. “Yeah, don’t I know it. Couldn’t make it more depressing if they tried. They do good work here, though.”

 

He leads Leon through the stark white halls, the heels of his boots clicking a steady rhythm into the tile. He tears his eyes from the walls when he catches a glimpse of a familiar logo, the red and white Umbrella yet another reminder of what still _could be_.

Based on what little Ada had told him, he could connect enough dots to know that Umbrella was morally bankrupt at best and outright a corporation of supervillains at worst. The recording that journalist dropped, the idea that they had dragged an orphanage, _children_ , into their experiments-

 

Leon forces the thought to the back of his mind, and hides the tension in his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

 

Whatever, or _when_ ever this place was, Umbrella hadn’t set their virus loose yet. Either someone had gotten a hold of the sample without struggle, it _had_ been unleashed but had yet to spread, or it didn’t exist at all. He prays to God that it's the latter.

 

Is it too much to ask that people practice some sort of human decency in the field of science?

 _Probably,_ he thinks with no small amount of bitterness.

 

“Leon? You ready?”

 

When Leon looks back to his companion, they’re standing in front of a brightly decorated door, every square inch covered in stickers, greeting cards, and drawings. A large name plate reads _Dr. Elizabeth J. Snyder_ in looping, graceful cursive. The word _psychotherapy_ is written underneath in blocky letters, almost like an afterthought.

 

If Leon is being completely honest, he isn’t ready, he feels like he’s in an elementary school guidance office, and he wants to go home. He remembers the bottle of whiskey in his refrigerator, gifted to him by a friend, and wonders if it's too early to adopt some harmful coping mechanisms.

 

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Is what he says, managing a small smile when Marvin gives him an encouraging thumbs up, and gives the door a quick rapp.

 

Before Leon has time to brace himself the door swings open, revealing an elderly woman with grey hair shorn short, thin-framed glasses perched on a long, straight nose. She makes a show of tilting her head to look over the frames, raising her eyebrows at him as she looks between him and Marvin.

“You’ve brought me a baby, Marvin. I’m sure this is against child labor laws.” Her voice is a rasp, vocal chords sanded down by years of smoking, Leon guesses.

“We make do.” Marvin responds, equally serious. “He can’t drive, but he can keep the peace.”

 

Leon observes the deadlock for a few seconds before Dr. Snyder cackles loud enough to draw several heads out of other offices, her mouth a thin slash in her gaunt face.

 

“Alright, come on in, kiddo. Marv, you know the drill.” She barks, backing into the room after giving Marvin a fond pat on the cheek.

 

Leon clenches his jaw, partially comforted by the old woman’s casual, if not salty demeanor, but equally unsettled when he remembers why he’s here.

 

He has a plan. He’ll put in the effort, tell her what she wants to hear, if he can. As close as he can get to the truth without the word ‘monster’ leaving his mouth. He just has to hold himself together.

 

“Leon, don’t think so hard. I can see the steam coming out of your ears.” Marvin tells him, arms crossed sternly as he shifts his away from the wall. “I’ll be right down this hall in the lobby. If you want to leave, no one's gonna force you to talk, just come get me, alright?”

 

With that, Marvin disappears down the hallway, and Leon finds himself sitting in an unreasonably comfortable chair with a bowl of M&Ms and a cup of tea sitting on the coffee table in front of him.

 

The floral wallpaper of the room is almost completely plastered over with prints of abstract paintings, with strings of fairy lights hung from every corner of the room.

 

Dr. Snyder collapses into her seat opposite him with what he _hopes_ is a glass of grape juice in one hand, thin legs crossed, leaning on the armrest with all the drama of a noir femme fatale.

 

She is not exactly what he had in mind when Rita called her ‘grandmotherly.’

 

“Alright Mr. Kennedy, first things first. My name is Elizabeth Snyder, you can call me Eliza if you like. Would you prefer I call you Leon?”

 

After a full day of ‘rookie’, that would be a welcome change. “Yes, Ma’am.”

 

“A good-mannered one.” She clicks her tongue, taking a sip of her drink. Based on the face she makes, it is not, in fact, grape juice. “Fresh out of the academy?”

 

“Yes, ma’am. Raccoon w- is my first assignment.” Leon winces. Apparently ‘acting normal’ was completely out the realm of possibility.

 

“I see. It says here you requested the assignment because of rumors coming out of the Arklay Mountain area?” She leans back into her chair, a strangely ornate thing, but considering the rest of the room, not _that_ strange. “Horrible, those stories.”

 

The mention of the mountains gives him pause. Through the lenses of experience he has now, he has a sneaking suspicion he knows what’s going on there. “... I did. It seemed like the people here could benefit from any help they could get. I figured I could be an extra set of helping hands.”

He hadn’t realized just how much help they needed. Far more than he- or anyone else- could ever give.

 

“That’s quite noble of you, Leon.” She says, tapping at her glass with a short nail. “How long have you wanted to join the force?”

 

“As long as I can remember, ma’am. I met a lot of good cops when I was in school. Met a lot of bad ones, too.” Probably one of the few whole truths he’d let slip today.

 

“‘Be the change you want to see?’” Eliza asks, taking another sip. She looks pleased, Leon thinks, but that could just be the wine.

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

She hums, a low sound in a quiet room. “I have faith you’ll do just that, young man.” Her smile becomes a bit wry, and she sets down her glass. “That said, we have to get through the hard part, first.”

 

Just what he isn’t ready for. “Fire away, ma’am.”

 

“I’ve heard from Marvin of the situation at the station, but I know he didn’t explain to you the whole of the aftermath.”

The word _aftermath_ puts a bitter taste in Leon’s mouth, but he knows she’s right. He can’t explain how he got here, where he is or where he came from, but he knows he caused  a panic on his ‘first’ day in the station. He finds his hands clasping together, wringing nervously.

 

If Eliza notices, she chooses not to comment. “What exactly did you see, in those moments?”

 

His grip on his own hands tightens, knuckles white. Lie to the person here to help him? He knows he has to, he should, _who knows what could happen if he doesn’t-_

 

 _“_ I- I saw-” The words catch in his throat.

 

But he can’t. _Someone_ has to know what happened. If he keeps these things in his head any longer he’s sure he’ll fall to pieces.

He can handle losing this fight. He can find a new job. On a coast, somewhere far, far from Raccoon City, far from Umbrella Pharmaceuticals, far from that hell-hole under the station that bred nightmares. His swirling thoughts join in a chorus to _tell her. Accept that you just_ can’t _do this again._

 

 _“_ I saw- a man. Coming to kill me.” He allows, voice strained by the weight of his thoughts. “He did, I was sure of it. And then I was back at the station, and it was happening again.”

Eliza’s expression is as carefully blank as it was when she asked the question, and Leon finds the words keep coming. “I wanted to- I don’t know, get one last lick in before the end.” The words come out marred by a bitter laugh. _As if I could have done any damage._

 

“And then I was on the ground, and I couldn’t breathe.” He remembers the grip on his arms, and the cold, smooth linoleum under his hands as he scrambled to find purchase. “Someone grabbed me. I thought- I must have pissed it off, and it was just gonna’ crush me, get it over with.”

 

“And now you’re here.” She says, resuming her tapping.

 

“Now I’m here.” He replies, feeling exactly as sapped of energy as he expected to.

 

“I see. Do you remember arriving at the station beforehand?” She asks.

 

“...Not at all.” Leon’s grip shifts to the cushion of the chair, his hands already aching from their tension. “I remember waking up, and driving here, but-” He clenches his jaw, already regretting the truth. “When I got to the station, it was empty. Vandalized. It wasn’t right.”

 

Eliza’s thin brows draw a bit higher, the wrinkles growing more pronounced. “Was there evidence to suggest danger, or was it simply a feeling of unease?”

 

“...There was evidence enough that I should have left.”

 

“Why didn’t you?”

 

He finds himself struggling for a response for a moment, half balking at the naive, can-do attitude that landed him in that situation and half cursing himself for continuing to talk. “Because there could have been someone left. I couldn’t leave.”

 

Eliza says nothing, but he sees the muscle in her jaw jump. “I see. Was there?”

 

“No.” He remembers Elliot’s death grip on his arm, hears Marvin’s last warning ringing in his ears, puts names to faces he put bullets through and hopes the shudder that runs through him isn’t visible. “None that I could help.”

 _Except Claire,_ his traitorous mind allows, _who is likely dead, and Ada who had held all of the answers, who had a target on her back larger than his own._

 

Every face he passed in those battered streets had _been_ someone. Someone he came here specifically to protect, to serve. Even the lickers, the _Tyrant_ had been someone, he realizes with a shudder. Hundreds of thousands of lives cut short and re-written for…  what?

 _A profit_ , an angry, dark part of him supplies. _A whole city_ gone, _for money, for_ ego.

 

Eliza’s eyes linger on him for a moment before she takes a long sip from her abandoned glass, and nods slowly. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

 

Leon makes an attempt to respond, and empty platitude that couldn’t begin to describe how sorry he was, and the sound is cut off by a ragged breath.

 

Eliza holds a tissue out to him, and it’s only then that he realizes tears are running down his face. His voice is torn by a noise that is half laugh, and half sob. Something in her expression is so open, so _understanding_ , so completely devoid of clinical judgement. All he wants to do is tell her everything.

 

_All of that really happened._

 

_It happened, and I’m still here._

 

 _“_ We’re going to figure this out, Leon.” She says, leaning forward, thin fingers laced together. “Can you tell me more?”

 

The tears are flowing in earnest, but Leon finds his chest feeling lighter than it has since he woke up in that break room.

 

“Yes, Ma’am.”

 

He jumps when she claps her hands together suddenly, that splitting smile again painted across her face. "Alright, kiddo, I'm glad to hear it. First things first, have some tea, maybe shove some chocolate in your mouth." She orders, taking another long sip of her drink. "God knows we have some work to do."

An hour passes in what feels like the blink of an eye, and by the time Dr. Snyder is putting down her second glass he finds that the answers have been easier and easier to produce, his breath staying steadier between answers, his muscles less tense.

 

“Alright Leon, good hustle, very good.” She swipes the empty bowl from in front of him, replacing it with another that she produces from under the table. Always prepared, apparently. “We just have two more things to cover, and then I’ll let you skedaddle on home for a well-earned rest.”

 

That sounds _delightful_ , but apprehension fills him nonetheless. He nods, waiting for her to continue.

 

“First things first, Marvin tells me you haven’t formally met the man you mistook for your attacker.” Leon winces at the reminder. Not only had he scared his coworkers, he had managed to _injure_ one. “Oh, don’t make that face, he’s fine. Jack is a sturdy man.”

 

“... I’d really like to apologize. I didn’t see him at all, the last thing I wanted was to hurt someone.” Sturdy or not, he had put as much force as he could behind that blow, and couldn’t have felt good.

 

“Do you think you’ll be alright if you see him? Can you think of anything we can do to lessen your anxiety?”

 

Leon presses his lips into a thin line. “I think so. Seeing his picture might help.” He thinks of that looming figure, and curses it for ruining his ability to appreciate a nice jacket. “...Maybe ask him not to wear black, or anything reflective.”

 

Eliza hums, fishing through a file that had laid unopened on the corner table since he arrived. “Easy enough. He’s no fashionista, I doubt he’ll have any complaints.” She continues flipping through the papers for a few seconds, before letting out  a triumphant ‘a-ha!’ as she pulls a photo from the mess.

 

“Here he is.” She hands Leon the photo, snorting less than gracefully as she does so. “He’s not much of a looker, but he’s a good guy. He’s real bent out of shape about scaring you, I’ve been told. What a softie.”

 

Leon bites back a quip about a therapist calling someone a ‘softie’, and instead looks  to the photo.

The man in the photo stares back at him from under a stern brow, sharp, squared features mirrored by the sharpness of his eyes. Slicked back hair, a natural frown, everything about the man screams ‘military’. In hindsight, he’s not surprised that he reacted the way he did in his panicked state, but he feels no less guilty for it.

 

“...I’m having trouble imagining him ‘bent out of shape’.” Leon remarks, smiling slightly when Eliza crows another of those strange laughs. “But I believe you.”

 

“Good. He’s at the station every other day or so, if I remember correctly. You can meet him as soon as you want.” She snags a single M&M from his bowl. “Service tax. Just let Marvin know.  You’ve done very well today, Leon, but I do believe it would be for the best that a familiar face accompany you.”

 

“That… sounds like a good idea.” He’d never forgive himself if he managed to assault this man twice in one week. He _did_ look like  he was made of solid concrete, but his feelings  probably weren’t.

 

“Now, our last order of business.” She reaches into the folder again, retrieving what looks like a bingo scorecard and a sheet of stickers.

He had felt like he was in elementary school before, but he _knew_ he was now.

 

“Don’t make  that face at me, kid. You knock bingo in front of an old-timer and they’ll knock your block off.” She opts this time to throw the papers at him, leaving him scrambling to catch them, accidentally crumpling the stickers in his haste.

 

“This isn’t going to be something you get over in a day, Leon, I’m sorry to say. This is gonna’ follow you.” She grimaces apologetically, but continues. “You seem like a good boy, so I’m going to ask you to try and follow this order.”

 

Leon’s brows pinch together, but he nods, looking over the card. At the top, in those familiar flowing letters, it reads ‘Coping Skills Bingo’.

 

He looks up at her from the card, and she stares back, brows raised, daring him to say anything about the choice. A flower with a smiley face does the same from the sticker sheet.

 

When he decides that keeping his opinion to himself is in his best interest, and nods his understanding, she smiles. “Good. If you feel like you’re slipping, you’re scared, you’re feeling disconnected, _anything,_ just pick one of these activities. Ground yourself. Can you do that?”

 

The list is simple enough, but at the same time so mundane that he has trouble imagining completing even one of them. Days ago he had rearranged his priorities enough that keeping his packs organized was his idea of calming. Reading a book, calling a friend, drawing a picture, all of these things  manage to sound like luxuries.

 

“I’ll do my best, Ma’am.”

The session ends without issue, with Eliza bringing him out to the lobby,  pressing a ziploc bag of candies into his hands and refusing to let him hand them back.

Marvin, who had kept himself occupied with a book, doesn’t bother to hide his amusement. “Well, I think you’ve been formally adopted, rookie.”

 

“Damn right, he has.” Eliza gives them both an ‘I’m watching you’, jabbing her fingers in their direction before waltzing back to her office.

 

The ride back home  is comfortable, and Leon thinks he could get used to seeing the doctor. His shoulders were free of the tension that had plagued him, and he had managed an hour free of the hyper-vigilance that the station inspired.

 

“I think I can comfortably call that a mission accomplished, Lieutenant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: dr. snyder is based on my grandma. a chain smoking, wine drinking, life-of-the-party g-ma, with a talent for listening to ur problems.
> 
> also, i love ending chapters in weird, awkward places bc i am too lazy to do otherwise.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon jumps a hurdle and manages not to fall on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i mention this was gonna be slow burn. bc its gonna be Very, very slow.

Having given himself a day to process what registered as the world’s most necessary- albeit unprofessional- therapy session in the history of the profession, Leon thinks he’s adjusting to his situation pretty well.

 

He’s been settled into his desk in the west offices, surrounded by now-friendly faces, some of whom had even gifted him small knickknacks to decorate his space with. Marvin and Rita to his left, Elliot to his right, and several new faces filling in the empty seats.

 

He hasn’t had a panic attack since just after his arrival, and granted, he still can’t go near the library or the upper floors, but he’s proud of his progress. That said, he isn’t any closer to unraveling his situation.

 

The more he learns, the less he understands, and the more he feels he never will.

 

‘He’ had arrived on time for his first day of work on the 24th of September, not delayed by a miniature apocalypse like the _real_ Leon had been. ‘He’ hadn’t stopped for gas at a sleepy little station outside the city, and hadn’t seen a police officer get his throat torn out. Hadn’t _stolen_ a police car with a stranger and nearly gotten incinerated upon entering the city.

 

‘He’ had woken up ready to start his first legal day of work and actually survived it, Leon thinks, with no small amount of resentment.

 

That said, ‘he’ hadn’t met Claire. Leon had that much on him, at least.

 

He pushes his self-pity from his mind, focusing on something more tangible.

 

Umbrella.

He had seen their logo on one of the doors in Dr. Snyder’s building, so they still exist here. That’s a good start, if a small one. He may have been slightly nauseated just by the sight of the symbol, but at the same time, there was something grounding about it. Like knowing at least that part of his memory was real and undeniable. 

Either they didn’t take a detour into mad science in this… _timeline_ , is the word he settles on, or they just haven’t thrown the shit directly at the fan yet.

 

If it’s turns out to be the latter, he needs to be ready.

 

 _I need to find Ada,_ he realizes with a grimace. She had been aware of Umbrella’s dealings before arriving in the city, presumably even before the outbreak. If this place was just a hair’s breadth away from becoming the nightmare he had perished in, he needed an expert.

 

But where on _earth_ is he going to find her, he highly doubts there's an open dossier of FBI agents-

 

“Earth to rookie, you in there?” A finger snaps in front of his face, and Leon’s eyes go wide in the face of Marvin’s amused smile. “You’ve been reading that file for about fifteen minutes.”

 

“Y-yes, sir!” He blurts, feeling the weight of his coworker’s amused stares. “I mean, I finished this one, I’m just-” he presses his lips together, reorganizing his thoughts before he manages to say something spectacularly stupid again, “... it’s a bit hard to focus, today.”

 

Rita snorts from her desk, waving around her own pen for emphasis. “You stuck him on secretary duty on his first real day, you can’t expect him to actually stay awake.”

 

Leon looks down at the files in his hand, and the remaining pile to be sorted, easily doubling the size of his ‘finished’ pile. “... Sorry, Lieutenant. Lost in thought.”

 

“Sounds like you could use a break.” Marvin stands from his desk, stretching his shoulders, and rotating his neck until it pops. “Come on, kid, you can pick this up when your head is back on your shoulders.”

 

Leon pointedly does not think about how his head was, at one point, quite literally not on his shoulders.

 

When they reach the lobby it’s maintaining a steady flow of traffic, civilians and officers alike too busy to truly pay them any mind. Marvin swings around the front desk and begins rifling through a wall of pamphlets, the officers manning the desk each throwing them an offhand greeting before returning to their tasks.

 

“You want to meet Krauser, right?” Marvin asks, pulling out fliers and clicking his tongue when he finds several in the wrong slots. At Leon’s affirmative, he continues, “Well, he’s in house today. His class is going to be finishing up pretty soon.”

That’s right, Dr. Snyder had mentioned that the man was the department’s go-to for hand-to-hand training. No wonder Leon had been on the ground the second after he made a move, he had basically assaulted a super-soldier.

 

 _Nothing embarrassing about that, of course not,_ he reassured himself.

 

And so he finds himself standing in the courtyard of the R.P.D observing the class in action, holding a flyer with the instructor's contact information and scheduled meeting times, hovering awkwardly compared to Marvin’s easy presence.

 

The picture Snyder showed him didn’t really do Krauser any justice, Leon finds himself thinking.

 

He’s definitely a severe man, pale blonde hair swept back from his face, revealing every hard angle and crooked scar. He looks like he’s a pure wall of muscle, a bruiser more than anything, but the dexterity with which he flips his combat knife during explanations displays a level of skill Leon never witnessed at the academy, a grace that he can only truly associate with a big cat.

 

 _Now is not the time to wax poetic,_ he reminds himself, folding the flyer as quickly as he's able, focusing fully on the group.

 

It’s only when demonstrations begin that Leon witnesses that skill on full display, and he has to wonder how he isn’t concussed at _best_ after being subdued by this guy. Marvin gets a good laugh out of his gawking, and Leon is glad at least one person is enjoying his suffering.

 

They must have caught the tail end of the class, as it ends quickly, several officers lingering to chat with Krauser before jogging back inside for what Leon _hopes_ is a good shower, based on how much dirt they’re all covered in.

 

“If you decide you’re not up for it, there’s no shame in it.” Marvin reminds him one last time, giving Leon a now-familiar look. “You good?”

 

“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks, Marvin.” Leon responds, and finds himself hit with a wave of regret. _I wish I had gotten to know you better, before._

At least he had time to do it now, it seemed.

 

Each step towards Krauser is hesitant, like wading into the ocean, waiting for the sandbank to drop out from under you. Leon feels only the hesitance that accompanies speaking to complete strangers, but finds himself waiting for what feels like the inevitable drop into panic.

 

But it doesn't come.

 

From this close, only feet away, Krauser’s already imposing physique is familiar in a way that threatens to make his stomach drop, but the longer he looks the more differences he notices.

 

He’s not much taller than Leon, he notes first, grateful to not be looking up at a ninety degree angle. The second is his eyes.

 

They’re a rich sea blue, nothing like the blank gray that tracked his every move, stared down at him dispassionately as he died-

 

When Krauser’s strong brow rises, subtle wrinkles forming on his forehead, Leon realizes he’s been staring for _far_ too long and finds the words he had prepared tangling in his mouth.

“Mr. Krauser- Sir, I’m really sorry about the other day, I had no idea what was happening,” That sounds great, good job, Cadet, “I’m really sorry I hurt you, I hope you’ll be able to forgive me.”

 

 _Wow, you bungled that even worse than expected_ , Leon berates himself internally, reasoning now that shoving his whole foot in his mouth would have been apology. At least it would have been amusing. 

 

Krauser gives him a long, considering look, a hint of surprise coloring his face before it melts into something a bit softer. His voice is low and rough, but it suits him. “I’m not angry, kid, I get it.”

 

“You do?” 

 

“Yeah, it’s no big deal.” He responds, working a kink out of his neck. “You got me pretty  good, but I’m still kicking.”

 

“While I’ve got you here, I wanted to apologize too.” _That_ throws Leon for a loop. Apologize for what? Thwarting his attempt on a coworker’s life? Interrupting his trip down memory lane?

“My instinct took over in the moment, and grappling you mid-flashback definitely did you no favors.” Oh. Krauser grimaces, darkening his already stony face. “Did Snyder get you straightened out?”

 

“...More or less.” Leon responds, fighting the urge to wring his hands. “I’m clear for desk work this week, and I’ll be starting on traffic in about two.”

 

“Good. You’ll be out there with the rest of ‘em in no time, then.” Krauser’s expression lightens, his posture shifting into something more casual than the parade rest he adopted during his class. “She really has you on the fast track. ‘Must like you already.”

 

Leon rubs at the nape of his neck sheepishly, the urge to fidget fading as he remembers the woman’s easy going demeanor. “If that’s what you’d call feeding me a halloween’s worth of chocolate and making me play bingo.”

 

Krauser makes a strangled noise that Leon assumes was an aborted laugh, and he finds himself beginning to smile in response. “Bingo? Damn, she had me playing Solitaire. You lucked out.”

 

“What kind of life lesson are you supposed to learn from that?”

 

“How to stay busy enough to avoid playing Solitaire.” Krauser responds, with a barely perceptible smile. “Sweet lady, but off her rocker.”

 

Leon could see how someone would come to that conclusion. He couldn’t help but wonder what someone like Krauser would have to talk about with her, though.

 

“All this-” He makes a sweeping motion at the improvised training ground that surrounds them as he continues, “-was a part of it, too. Keeps me in the game without throwing me back to the sharks, as much as I miss them.”

 

Retired military, then? Leon’s questions double, then triple with every thing that Krauser lets slip. He’d save them for another day, and finds himself hoping that there will be more than one.

 

“Say, kid-”

 

“Leon.” He pipes in.

 

“Leon,” Krauser amends, a glint in his eye that reminds Leon of a teacher about to announce a pop quiz, “You got any interest in hand-to-hand?”

 

Leon weighs his options.

 

He wants to know this man better, to be able to run into him spontaneously without his fight-or-flight instinct triggering and sending him flying into a panicked frenzy.

 

Take the class and risk punching the man of steel again, or don’t, and spend his time at the R.P.D avoiding him like an overgrown plague rat?

 

The choice is easy enough to make, when he puts it like that.

 

“When’s the next session?” Leon asks, the smile coming easier to him now. “I’ll be there there.”

 

“Next Monday, bright and early.” Krauser grins, the first open, unrestrained emotion Leon has seen on his face. It suits him. “Bring a change of clothes, I hear it’s gonna’ rain”

 

“Got it. Thanks, Mr-”

 

“Call me Jack, kid. One more ‘mister’ and you’re the first one in the mud.” _Jack_ responds, the lingering smile sapping the bite from his words.

 

Marvin looks like the cat that caught the canary when Leon gets back to the west office, and Leon finds his paperwork just a bit more bearable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is officially the longest thing i've ever written and boy. i'm feelin it.
> 
> thank you all so much for the comments and kudos, they mean the world to me <3 school has me behind on responding, but know that i love and appreciate you!!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A familiar face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im going go back and proofread as much as i can before i write the next chapter, if only for the sake of my own heart o<-<

Leon’s week of mandatory desk work is over in a flash, and he finds his coworkers working _very_ hard to keep him busy.

Between Elliot and Rita badgering him to make a ‘character sheet’ for one of their new games, Marvin casually but obviously steering him towards Krauser whenever the opportunity presents itself, and the man himself being so _damn_ nice, Leon hardly feels any time pass at all.

He keeps a close eye on the older Redfield once he finally sees him- the S.T.A.R.S members are surprisingly hard to get a hold of- thankful for yet another constant. He can understand after one glance why Claire wasn’t too worried about him. The guy’s built like a tank, and probably still growing.

He might have been able to give the Tyrant a run for its money, if anyone could.

 

Marvin makes a point of eating lunch together on most days, usually with a handful of other officers to ‘promote group togetherness’, almost always culminating in a round-table of department gossip and good-natured teasing.

Leon has never felt more like the youngest sibling than he does now, and he finds that he enjoys every second of it.

 

That doesn’t stop the voice in the back of his head from taunting him, _This isn’t yours, you’re not_ their _Leon._ Thoughts he’s quick to shut down, but can’t help but dwell on. _You stole this life from someone._

 

On quieter days, he finds himself chasing that rabbit, wondering what happened to ‘this’ Leon. Were they one and the same? Did the ‘other’ get catapulted into the catastrophe he had escaped?

 

He sincerely hopes not. Maybe Marvin was right and he was hallucinating, or repressing some horrible memories. As long as he never goes back to that place, he doesn’t care what it was.

 

He wishes he stopped seeing shambling shapes in the shadows of the station, wishes he wasn’t too afraid to traverse the upper floors.

 

_I want to enjoy what I have, for as long as I’m allowed to have it._

 

Fingers snap in front of his face, now a very common occurrence in the office, and he jerks back to see Rita smiling impishly at him, having joined their lunch table while his thoughts  wandered. “Yoo-hoo, the lights are on, is anyone home?”

 

“He’s been making that spacey face since he sat down.” Ford answers while Leon grimaces sheepishly. “Thinkin’ big thoughts, rookie?”

 

“I wish I was thinking less thoughts.” Leon mumbles, chewing distractedly on a french fry. “It’s been a hell of a week.”

 

“Sure has, kid.” Marvin responds, holding a hand in front of his mouth as he chews. “Just wait till you’re on traffic duty, you’ll see some strange things.”

 

“That sounds like a blessing after all this paperwork.” Leon can handle streakers and drunk college kids, but if he has to file one more stack of paper he’s going to go completely stir crazy. “And that’s Monday morning?”

 

“Yep,” Marvin draws out the sound, popping the last syllable. “We’ll get you a vest, all the essentials, and send you out into the world.”

 

Rita mock-sniffles beside him, trying very hard to keep her smile from showing. “Our little Leon, all grown up and ready to give out speeding tickets.”

 

“Ha, ha.”  He deadpans, feeling a smirk twitch at his own lips. “I can’t wait to deal with more crying teenage girls and belligerent drunks than I ever have before.”

 

“Aw, were you a heartbreaker back in the day, Leon?” Ford teases, leaning back dangerously in his chair. One wrong move and he’s going head over heels.

 

“When I say ‘more crying teenage girls than ever before’, I mean more than zero.”

 

Ford barks a laugh at that, tipping dangerously before righting himself. “Well, at least you’re honest!”

 

Rita gives him a look from under lowered brows, squinting like she’s trying to solve a puzzle and can't find the last piece. “ _Really?”_

 

“Really, what?”

 

“No girlfriends?” He shakes his head. There had been a few dates in high school, a handful during his time at the academy, but nothing that stuck.

 

“No _boy_ friends? _”_ She laughs openly when he sputters, a catlike smirk pushing her eyes into crescents.

 

“No _anything_ -friends, just a few dates.” He acquiesces, taking a moment to note that no strange faces were made at Rita’s use of the word ‘boyfriend’. _These people are just the gifts that keep on giving, huh._

 

Rita looks ready to launch into a romance-based spiel, _please don't offer to introduce me to anyone_ , when an officer Leon isn’t familiar with cracks open the door to the break room. 

He can proudly say he doesn’t even flinch this time. _I do wish they’d fix those hinges, though._

 

“Marvin, can you c’mere for a minute?” He doesn’t look tense, which is enough to put Leon at ease. He does, however, speak with an unsure timbre that leads Leon to believe he may have been the previous ‘rookie’.

Whatever the problem is, as long as it isn’t a zombie, he’s fine. And if it _was_ one, he’s confident this officer would be a bit less composed.

 

They’re _safe,_ he reminds himself.

 

Marvin puts the remainder of his lunch down and is out of his chair before Leon has even fully processed what the officer said. “What do you have for me, Hamilton?”

 

The officer, Hamilton, steps further into the room with a grimace. “Nothing big, Chris just needs to talk to you. Family emergency.”

 

_That_ gets Leon’s attention.

 

It could mean anything. Ailing grandparents, car accident, broken bone, skinned knee, _anything_ . Surely the Redfields had an extended family. It would be silly to assume this was about Claire specifically- _but what if?_

 

“Is everyone okay?” He blurts, before he can stop himself, and winces when Marvin’s brows raise. _Smooth, very smooth. Not suspicious at all._

 

“You know Redfield, Kennedy?” He looks somewhere between confused and pleased, and Leon doesn’t know how to parse that at all. “I didn’t think you’d met any of the S.T.A.R.S members.”

 

"N-no, sir, I haven’t." Leon has never felt more like the world’s least competent spy than in this moment, sputtering through a half-assed response. "Just friendly concern.”

 

A moment passes, Rita giving him that smile that he has learned not to trust, and he fights the urge to groan. Marvin accepts the excuse with a grunt and quirk of his brow, obviously too distracted to give Leon a hard time about it. “Alright, if you say so. He at the front desk?”

 

“West Office.” Hamilton replies, and then they’re both out the door, Hamilton shuffling away as quickly as his legs allow. Leon’s apprehension must be  clear to see on his face, because Rita’s hopping into the chair next to him, looping her arm in his as she does so.

 

“I’m sure everything’s fine, Leon. If it were really serious we’d have heard Redfield’s stomping from across the station.” She grins mischievously, and Elliot’s answering snort is all Leon needs to hear to know that observing and diagnosing Chris’ moods are a frequent pastime for the two.

 

“Remember that time he was so pissed at Irons that we heard him in the East Hallway  from the Chief’s office?”

 

“Oh, definitely! That was the talk of the town for _days-”_

 

He makes a mental note to avoid Redfield’s ire at any cost, if only for the sake of his eardrums.

 

The day passes quickly after that, his usual filing duty livened up by Scott and Elliot’s  bickering over his desk, but his concern for Claire follows him like a dark cloud, and the anxiety of waiting for lightning to strike has become smothering by the time he hears Chris’ Jeep pull into the front lot.

 

_He wouldn’t have come back to work if it was serious, everything must  be fine,_ one half of his mind reasons, pushing back against the parts that argue that _I came here during a catastrophe, too, why wouldn’t he?_

 

He’s out of his seat and halfway to the door before either of his companions have time to question him, and when he swings the door open his worries are laid to rest by the easy lines of Chris’ stance.

 

Well, maybe not easy, but it’s certainly not the posture of someone in mourning or facing an apocalyptic event. He’s leaning against the front desk, talking to the officer manning the phones, and Krauser, who looks to be on his way out. _Maybe I should say ‘hi’- no, no, he’s busy. Not now._

 

Leon takes a step back, pulling the door with him as he goes, only for the creak of those hinges to immediately give away his retreat. He freezes, suddenly caught under the weight of three sets of eyes.

 

Krauser gives him a blatantly amused wave from where he leans against the desk, and Chris straightens his posture, revealing-

 

“Claire?”

 

His freezes in his veins, a wave of relief flooding him in tandem with a flash of anxiety.

 

_She’s fine, she’s okay_.

 

_But does she know-_

 

She stares, her expression warping rapidly from surprise to elation, before crumbling into a familiar mask of horror. Before he has the chance to consider abandoning ship, closing the door, getting in his car and driving home to put an end to this, she crosses the space between them, pulling him into a crushing hug.

He would take the time to laugh at Chris’ shell shocked expression if he wasn’t sure he was actively being thrown back into a dream, teetering on the edge of collapse.

 

Part of him wants to struggle out of her embrace, like it would keep him above water in a churning sea. As if returning the gesture would be accepting their fate, pulling the rug out from under them. A straight drop back into that  _unforgettable hellscape-_

 

But he can't. It's Claire. She knows what happened here, she  _understands_. 

 

_It happened, then_ , he realizes numbly has he wraps his arms around her. _Fuck._

  

This could be it, then. The end of his post-mortem reprieve.

 

When fades into nothing, with one last glimpse of comfort in this place before an inevitable, painful end.

 

He feels wetness seep through the fabric of his uniform shirt where her face is pressed into his shoulder, and tightens his arms around her. Dream or not, he’s going to make this last. He needs this. _She_ , obviously, needs this.

 

The leather of her jacket is firm and smooth under his fingers, and it almost distracts him from the hot tears he can feel spilling down his own face.

 

When she finally speaks through hiccoughs and wet gasps, pulling back to look him in the eye, he almost wishes she hadn’t.

This makes it solid, real. Not just a hallucination at best, or memory at worst. He doesn’t want to acknowledge it, every word feeling like a heavy impact against thin ice, and he knows he won't survive another plunge. 

  
“It was real, it was real, _I knew it was-”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its ya gurl, also in need of love and support


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A decision is made, and healing begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the google doc name of this fic has been changed to 'proofread, you bastard'

Sitting next to Claire like this, exchanging their secrets in hushed whispers while Chris’ stare burns a hole in the back of Leon’s head is as cathartic as it is nerve wracking, and Leon is still having trouble accepting that it’s actually happening.

 

Based on the glaze to Claire’s eyes, so is she. Her tears have ebbed, and the shudder in her hands has hardened into something more determined by the time she begins her explanation.

 

“There were labs down there. Under the city. That’s where it all came from.” She starts, hands clenched into fists in her lap. “We _ almost  _ made it out. There was a train, but Birkin-”

 

The way her face pales must be visible from afar, as Leon catches Chris nearly jumping to his feet out of the corner of his eye, only to be linger near the front desk, as if waiting for Claire to break. “He kept… mutating. Took over the train, right before the blast caught up.” 

 

There’s a wryness to her smile that makes his heart clench. “I’m honestly glad the explosion got to us before he did.”

 

“There was a little girl down there, Leon.” She continues as quietly as she can manage, her jaw tense like she’s trying not to snap the words. “Birkin’s  _ daughter _ . Who  _ does  _ that, leaves a kid unattended under  _ normal _ circumstances, let alone during a goddamn viral outbreak?”

 

The idea of an elementary schooler wandering the halls below the department has lead settling in Leon’s stomach. She must have been petrified, it’s a wonder she survived long enough for Claire to find her.

 

And the child of an Umbrella scientist, left to fend for herself directly in the line of fire? He finds himself hoping her parents perished horribly, and struggles to muster any guilt for the thought.

 

He hopes the end wasn’t as painful for her as he imagines it must have been, and  banishes the thought as quickly as it comes.

 

“How was-” Leon struggles for a moment. How the hell is he supposed to word this? “I mean- how did you get here?”

 

Completely against his expectations, a wet chuckle breaks cracks away the mask of rage that has become her face. That’s good, probably. He hopes.

 

“Oh, apparently it was hilarious.”

 

His expression must be dubious, as something in it has her cracking a weak smirk. 

 

“Apparently I was out with friends at some hibachi place, you know, where they cook  in front of you?” He nods, despite having no idea what she’s talking about, “Yeah, the chef lit up the grill and I flew straight out of my chair screaming bloody murder. Completely ass over tea kettle.”

 

“Or so I was told, at least.” She finishes with a tired smile and a shrug. “I cracked my head on the table behind us, passed right out. How ‘bout you?”

 

There it is, the hard part. “Can we talk more about your hibachi havoc instead?”

 

She frowns, worry erasing her smile. “Was it that bad?”

 

He hesitates to say it was anything  _ but _ bad, 

 

“I, uh,” Leon glances over to the front desk where Marvin and Krauser have resumed their hushed conversation, and winces. “I hit someone. Pretty hard.”

 

Claire’s eyebrows climb almost into her hairline. “Who?”

 

He gestures as subtly as he can to the front desk, mouthing ‘the big one’, and her eyebrows climb higher. He understands. In hindsight, he’s surprised he didn’t break a bone on Krauser, too. 

 

That small miracle does nothing to soothe the sting of having assaulted him with a misdirected intent to maim, though.  _ God, I should bake him cookies, or something.  _

 

“They had a surprise party planned for my first day.” He recounts, teeth worrying  at lip. His coworkers continue to insist that it’s fine, that they understand, but they  _ must _ resent him, at least a little. “...I was definitely surprised.” 

 

“I thought he was- the big one.” His chest tightens in a way that’s become far too familiar, growing painful when Claire’s expression falls.

 

Not into pity, or confusion, but pale-faced horror. Realization.  _ So she met it, at best, saw its handiwork, at worst- _

 

He stops the voice in its tracks. He can’t deal with that. She can’t have seen.

 

Her smile is long-gone now. Wide, glassy eyes boring into his, filled to the brim,  _ overflowing _ memories that were better off left alone.

When she speaks, it’s choked, a  _ rasp, _ like her revelation has punched the air from her lungs. 

 

_ Please don’t tell me. _

 

“I wasn’t sure, I had hoped-” she sucks in a ragged breath, an uneven waver to her voice. “In the library. I saw-”

 

He can imagine what she saw, and he desperately wishes he couldn’t.

 

Her expression crumbles when she grasps his hand, lacing their fingers together. “I’m so sorry, Leon,  _ I wasn’t fast enough _ -”

 

He doesn’t want to think about his own body reduced to an unrecognizable red splash on a bookshelf. Of that  _ thing, _ its mission accomplished, focusing its sights on Claire and Ada, on a  _ child  _ in the wrong place at the worst time.

 

He can feel hear his heart beat in his head in tandem with the echoes of those heavy boots on hardwood, realizes and bitterly resents the fading edges of his his vision with what control he has left. 

 

_ I’m pathetic. _

 

Claire has survived so much. She protected a child, guided her through hell, endured more and suffered to the end and still has her head on her shoulders. She even had the fortitude to find amusement in the circumstance, a  _ bright side. _

 

And here he is, falling apart. 

 

_ He isn’t here, his job is done. He can’t hurt me. Come on, come  _ on _ I was doing so well, he  _ can’t hurt me-

 

“Kennedy, you alright?” Warm, calloused hands, feather-light at his shoulders,  _ warm, alive, nothing like the icy grip that haunts him.  _ His bones don’t crack, or splinter, and somehow the absence of pain is just as intense as its expected presence.

 

Words are out of Leon’s grasp, and his vision swims, but he makes out through the blur that Claire is gone-  _ standing at the front desk, not gone, breathe deep-  _ and a figure kneels in front of him.

 

Blonde hair, sharp blue eyes, familiar. The scar through his brow, bisecting his lip. From this  distance, deeper than Leon had thought.  _ Must have hurt. _

 

Jack repeats his name, the crease between strong brows deepening. Great, he’s causing trouble again.

 

_ I’m fine,  _ he wants to lie, to pretend that this is okay, that he can  _ deal _ with this. That this is something that he’ll forget with time.

 

He knows he can’t, and he won’t. 

 

He can’t live like this, this _ will _ last, and when it does, he knows he’ll fall apart.

 

_ Maybe if you had just grown up and put a bullet in your head you wouldn’t be here now.  _ The voice in his head terrifies him with what he worries,  _ knows _ are truths.  _ It’s not too late. _

 

_ “ _ Are you hearing me, Leon?”

 

Distantly, he takes in Jack’s voice counting in steady intervals,  _ one, two, three, four, hold, good job,  _ and finds himself falling into the rhythm. The grip on his shoulders is stronger now, grounding and heavy. 

 

At first the breaths won’t come,  stuttering and choppy, but the longer he listens the easier it becomes  to follow.

 

_ Exhale, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. _

 

The black creeps away from the edges of his vision, further with every completed  breath, and Leon’s shoulders sag, tension ebbing away as Jack continues to count.

 

By the time he’s breathing evenly, Chris and Claire are gone from the lobby, Marvin standing sentry at the door to  the break room. 

 

“Feelin’ better?” Jack’s voice is tight, and he must track Leon’s darting eyes, as he continues, “Don’t worry. She’s in the break room, she’s fine.”

 

That’s all it takes for Leon to fully slump into the bench, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. Some part of him is vaguely aware that Jack is  _ very _ close to him right now, but the embarrassment of causing yet  _ more _ trouble drowns the quiet thought.

With air in his lungs, he attempts to string together an apology, mumbling to the floor when he finds himself unable to meet Jack’s eyes.

 

“What was that?  Can’t hear you, boy scout.” Well, he must not look like death anymore if he’s getting teased. Tension still lines Jack’s words, but it fades with every word. 

 

“...I’m sorry, I keep doing-  _ this.”  _ Leon starts, leaning back to look the man in the eye, quickly faltering when he meets icy blue. “Being a nuisance.”

 

Jack’s stare is focused and wide, and were it anyone else Leon would say he looked almost appalled. “Kid, you’re not a nuisance.”

 

“But-”

 

“No ‘but’s. No one’s judging you.” He gives Leon’s shoulders a squeeze, his lips a thin line. “I had-  _ have,  _ flashbacks. Fireworks can make me panic. Whole nine yards.” The idea of Krauser panicking is hard enough for Leon to imagine on its own, but Jack continues before he can ponder it further.

“It happens. There are ways to deal with it, and you’ll learn them.” There’s a glint of something earnest- hope, maybe, in his eyes. “And we can help you do that, if you let us.”

 

He’s not being berated. He’s not in trouble, Jack isn’t mad that Leon’s wasting his time. Jack  _ wants _ to be here.

 

That realization alone makes Leon’s decision for him.

 

“Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: tags a fic leon/krauser  
> also me: puts krauser in 3/8 of the chapters for extremely brief periods of time


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire ruminates on some things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while (whoops), so here have this brief interlude with claire while i get myself in order again

Chris’ apartment is small, but filled to the brim with life. Bookshelves that hold more photos than literature, dozens of smiling faces preserved under thin panes of glass. Some old, some new, some scrawled over with labels and names.

Perched on the ledge in front of her brother’s clunky television Claire finds a framed copy of her high school graduation portrait, and feels her lip twitch.

It’s awkwardly cut out, obviously printed onto photo paper and placed in a frame that isn’t  _ quite _ the right size, but the handiwork is so distinctly and endearingly  _ Chris _ that she can’t bring herself to be anything but deliriously happy to see it.

 

She had missed him  _ so, so much _ . 

 

And she never found him.

 

She got so far, survived so much, promised a long, safe life to a child who would ultimately share her untimely fate. Dying young, nameless, and forgotten under the rubble of a ruined city. 

 

There was  _ fire,  _ an unimaginable pain cut mercifully short by-

The whispered coos and gentle touches of her friends, the feeling of cheap carpet under her fingers as she scrambled away from a now invisible danger. 

 

All alive, all safe. 

 

All wrong.

 

The trip from there to the hospital had been a blur, a fever dream at best and the most terrifying of nightmares at worst. 

The waiting,  _ knowing _ that you’re going to wake from a pleasant dream and be thrown back into pandemonium. Parting with what you want most and forgetting that you had it at all.

 

Instead she found herself thrown into her brother’s waiting arms, deeper into the dream. 

 

How cruel. It would only make the inevitable heartbreak of waking up sting even more.

 

Claire shakes the memories-  _ dreams?- _ from the forefront of her mind, sucking in a deep breath, and refusing to let her shoulders shake as she releases it.

 

_ You are  _ here.  _ This is real. And even if it isn’t, you’re going to enjoy it while it lasts. _

 

The mechanical clacking of the apartment’s doorknob grounds her as she forces her muscles to relax.  _ This is the safest place I could be, all things considered,  _ she reminds herself.  _ Even if I’m  _ not _ just crazy, Chris is a capable guy. _

 

“Hey, sorry I took so long. Bad traffic on the way back.” Chris’ voice calls from the hallway, accompanied by the familiar scuffing of his well-loved boots. “I  _ did _ get that movie you wanted, though.”

 

By the time he rounds the corner Claire finds that mustering a smile isn’t nearly as hard as she thought it would be. “Popcorn too?”

 

He nods dutifully. “Popcorn too.”

 

“Excellent.” She grins, already vaulting over the back of the sofa to land on plush cushions. “Ready?”

 

Chris snorts, taking his time kicking his shoes off and making a show of walking as slow as possible. “I don’t know, I’m pretty tired. It was a long day…” As in line with his character as it is, a voice in the back of Claire’s head reminds her that he’s being careful with her.

 

All of his words and actions, though familiar and comforting, are colored with a hesitant,  _ observant _ slowness, like he’s walking on eggshells.

Which he very well might be. The doctors had been very insistent that she had suffered a ‘psychological break’, or post-traumatic flashbacks to some long locked away memories. Memories that, by all rights, Chris should know about.

 

He’s known about every scraped knee, broken nail, and tangled ponytail, but not whatever sent her flying into a panic at the sight of an open flame? He must be overthinking all of this just as much as her with _ less  _ than half of the information.

 

The creak of a floorboard draws her attention back to him and she groans, rolling her eyes. “Just start the popcorn.” 

This is good. Familiar. Grounding. “There’s nothing to wake you up like Alex Winter playing a vampire.”

 

His nose scrunches up, but he tosses her the tape from where he stands in the small kitchenette. “Bill S. Preston as Dracula?  _ That’s _ what I went out of my way for?”

 

Claire cackles as she cracks open the tape box, and allows the smell of buttery popcorn and the company of family to push away her lingering memories.

 

No zombies. No Birkin. No  _ Umbrella. _

 

Just the life that she should have had, for however long she can have it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really like bill and ted and in this universe so does the redfield family


End file.
